


Fallen

by Morgyn Leri (morgynleri)



Series: Daegon Rings [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe, D/s, Dubious Consent, F/M, GFY, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 05:32:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1142060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgynleri/pseuds/Morgyn%20Leri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Owen vanishes into the Rift while Jack is gone, and is spat out on a planet which is known in some centuries for the bands used on their slaves. Jack talks the Doctor into helping him to fetch his wayward employee, and when he does, Owen's not certain if he wants to go back or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fallen

He strains against the cuffs that hold him securely to the bed, fingers scraping against the dense wood of the slightly reclined headboard, shoulders aching from the position, and inability to move. His heels dig into the mattress in an effort to achieve enough purchase to press his hips upward toward the weight that rests against his waist, so near and so far at the same time.

"Shh. Not yet." The voice is soft, a parody of gentle, making him growl with frustration. The noise only earns him a hand fisted in his hair, pulling his head back to bare a throat already littered with nips and bruises. Marks that proclaim him to be someone's toy, an object to be used as they desire.

"Behave, pet," the voice murmurs against his throat, punctuating the command with another nip.

He doesn't want to behave, he wants to be engulfed to the root in the heat that he knows waits for him. Even if he is just a toy, he's her favorite, the one she comes back to again and again. It's all he has now, all he can look forward to. There's no way home, not for him.

He forces himself to still, letting her do with him as she wills. The hand in his hair eases, shifting to cradle the back of his head as her lips come to rest against him. "Beg me, pet. Tell me how much you want this, what you want me to do with you. What makes your heart pound against your chest in anticipation, makes you forget your place, forget it all."

This game is the most dangerous, when she wants to hear him talk dirty, wants him to beg for the pain, the breathlessness, the humiliation. Dangerous and exciting and when he feels the most alive.

"Fuck me, mistress. Wrap your fingers around my throat, and squeeze." He raises his eyes to meet hers, brown staring into amber for a moment before he tilts his head back, letting the back of his skull touch the wall, exposing his throat willingly. "Bite me, leave your mark on my shoulder, my neck, anywhere. Please, mistress. Fuck me, ride me."

She laughs, the chuckle darker than the room, and leans forward to press her mouth hard against his, teeth catching at his lower lip as she pulls away, stinging as they scrape the tender flesh. "Again, pet. Tell me what you are, what you want me to do to you."

"Your pet, your whore, yours, all yours. Fuck me, strangle me, mark me as yours, only yours." He remembers, vaguely, a time when he wouldn't beg so readily, when she hurt him for real, when the marks didn't fade in days, the pain never transmuted into the pleasure that coursed through him.

She smiles, barely seen in the dim light, shifting her weight off him, her hands coming to rest at the base of his throat, loosely wrapping around it. Warm heat engulfs him, and he jerks his hips slightly, earning a gentle squeeze, but nothing more. He waits, as she slowly sinks onto him, taking him to the root, gaze holding his as she pauses, weight pressed intimately against him, mouth slightly open as she lets out a groan of pleasure.

Fingers tighten slowly around his throat as she moves, his breath just a little shorter, slowly cutting off. Not entirely, not yet. Just enough to make him pant a bit more as she rocks, focused on her own building desire and pleasure. It feels too long to him before her grip closes, his lungs laboring to draw in enough oxygen to keep him conscious.

Her pace increases as she cuts off his air, pupils dilating, the amber a narrow band that reflects gold in the candle light. Mouth gaping open slightly as she draws in the air he can't, teeth bared white against the darkness. Teeth that soon sink into the flesh just beneath his ear, biting down as she convulses in the throes of her orgasm.

Darkness tunnels his vision, spots dancing before his eyes, his entire body crying out for the oxygen it has been denied. He digs his heels into the mattress once more, lifting his hips to press as close to her as he can as he finds release, knowing she will let go before she kills him.

* * *

"They came through the Rift at the same time Owen fell through. We know they might not be from the same place and time as where he ended up, but they're the only clue we have." Tosh wants to ask Jack what he was thinking when he ran off and abandoned them for months, but there are more important matters than just his casual dismissal of his responsibilities for... well, whatever reason he'd done so.

Jack looks at the rings sitting casually on the corner of Tosh's desk, and she can see him blanch, as if there's something dangerous about the thin, flexible metal bands that she can't figure out the purpose of. Except possibly decorative, with the etchings along the flat surfaces.

"Those came through the Rift? No one's tried to put them on, have they?"

Tosh looks at him with an expression of mixed confusion and concern, the expression reflected in Ianto's face as he hands her a mug of coffee. "No, Jack. What are they?"

"A collar and cuffs." Jack reaches out one hand, picking up the ring larger than the other two. "They're from Daegon, about the thirty-ninth century. They're used to mark someone as a possession." He uses his other hand to turn the metal band so one marking was clearly visible. "This one was for a personal whore. Whoever wore these probably wore only these."

Tosh edges away from the rings now, staring at them, then at Jack. "Personal... whore?" She knows she's doing an excellent impression of Gwen, had the other woman been here, but this isn't what she'd expected to hear. That Owen could be someplace where...

"Perhaps it's a good thing Gwen took the day off to spend with her boyfriend." Ianto is staring at the rings as well, though there's a speculative look in his eyes now that scares Tosh a bit. "She's taken Owen's disappearance a little harder than I'd expect."

Tosh has an idea why Gwen has had a harder time dealing with Owen vanishing than Ianto or herself, but she's not sharing that with either of the men in the room. But she agrees with Ianto, it's a good thing Gwen isn't here to find out that Owen may well be on a planet where he could end up as someone's sex slave.

Jack looks up in time to catch Ianto's expression, and Tosh wonders what crosses his mind for a brief moment before she turns away, deliberately looking at her computer. She doesn't really want to know, in the end. But sometimes she wonders, even as she tries to pretend not to.

* * *

There's more to being her favorite than the sex. It's the attention, and the level of freedom that he enjoys as much as the dark-shrouded mingling of pleasure and pain, danger and desire. The chance to explore the city around them, to learn more about the culture of the place he has to call home now.

She even gives him the chance to learn about more than the culture. To learn about how medical science has changed in the nearly two millennia since he last studied, how it differs here where it mingles with the native alien technology, much like the humans who came here have. Like her family has, to create her, with her exotic beauty and strength.

He likes the days when she leaves him to study the best, but today isn't one of those days. The clothing left for him is too nice, and too revealing at the same time. It's meant for an audience, and not a small one. A party, though here or elsewhere he doesn't know.

The shirt catches slightly on the collar that encircles the base of his throat, where her fingers had been the night before, but he tugs it free, careful not to rip the fine fabric. Pants that cling to his legs like a second skin follow, and low boots with a soft sole that suggests the party will be here, where he doesn't have to travel.

She smiles when he is brought to her for approval, and she nods, beckoning him to come to her. He kneels at her side, though he hesitates slightly before he does, still uncertain of this dynamic, of being totally at the command and mercy of someone else. She strokes his hair gently, her hand resting at the base of his skull a moment.

"I've invited some friends over tonight, pet. I want them to see you." She looks down at his upturned face, and he hopes she doesn't see the faint shadow that passes over his expression, the tiny shiver of fear that passes through him. He doesn't like the idea she might share him with anyone, though he knows he has no choice, not if she wants to do so.

"Oh, pet, I want them to see what they can't have. I don't let anyone else play with my toys, not unless I'm finished with them. And I'm not finished with you yet." Her voice, her tone, is the sort one used on a favored dog that needed reassurance. He leans his head against her thigh, closing his eyes as her hand continues to stroke his hair.

He doesn't entirely know when this became normal, became what he wanted, even though he's still scared of it. But he doubts he'll be able to go back to normal if he manages to slip back through the Rift again, and home. Because this is starting to feel like home.

* * *

"They're not toys, Ianto." Jack watches Ianto trace the glyphs carved into the collar as he leans against his desk. "They're keyed to the person who they belong to. If you put them on without that person around to undo them later, the only way to take them off is to die."

"Then it's a good thing I had no intention of putting them on myself." Ianto straightens, meeting Jack's gaze with a bland expression. "They're more than just decorative markers of ownership." He sounds certain of it, and if Jack didn't know the Welshman can't read minds, he'd wonder for a moment there.

"No." He doesn't really want to talk about Daegon and their culture. It had changed by the fifty-first century, but only in that it had been driven underground. When he'd visited it at it's peak, he'd learned some skills that still came in handy, but more often in combat and catching people than in sex, at least for him.

The stray thought that perhaps the Master had visited Daegon, or read up on their culture crosses his mind, and he shakes his head violently to clear it away. _Those_ are memories he could well forget.

"Would you wear them for me?"

He knows he should have expected Ianto's question, but it still takes him by surprise, and he watches him for a long moment, trying to form a coherent reply.

"Not this set." He can't. It's more of a risk than he's willing to take. Dying isn't something he wants to do too often.

"Can you get a set that you would wear?" Ianto is watching him carefully, and Jack knows he has to be careful how he answers this. He wonders what has brought this on. He didn't think he'd given Ianto any expectation that what they had between them would be permanent, or even exclusive.

"I'd rather not." Jack shoves his hands into his pockets, a small frown on his face. "They're not my style, Ianto. They're dangerous if you don't know what you're doing. Can be lethal."

"I suppose I ought to learn more about them, then." Ianto pauses, holding Jack's gaze. "Two sets, Jack."

Jack doesn't look away, seeing something dark lurking behind the bland expression Ianto still wears. He knows that it's a mask, has known that since the incident with Lisa, but it's still disturbing to see when it surfaces.

* * *

He stays at her side as she mingles, her friends bringing guests of their own as well as treasured favorites, showing off gleaming bands at throat and wrists with the intricate lettering of the names of their owners. His own are worn with a quiet pride, a small smirk coming to his face when one or another of those with the bands look to his own with jealousy flitting through their expressions.

He startles when he sees the silver gleam around a familiar pair of wrists, a neck that was a buried memory, and drops to his knees, pressing against his mistress in an effort to hide. An effort that may in the end be futile, he knows, but for a bit longer, he can hide as his mistress strokes his hair, soothing him.

In the end, he's lucky, avoiding the memory and whoever holds him for the night. His mistress is worried about him after his sudden panic, and sends him from the party, back to his own room, for the evening. He waits, and is glad when she comes to him, even though her expression shows her annoyance at his behavior. No concern now, away from the eyes of others who might judge her poorly.

Pain is his companion that night when she leaves, welts across his back and thighs, unfulfilled need coursing through his body. He doesn't dare touch himself, spreading his arms wide instead, closing his eyes to focus on the fiery pain of his beating instead. The punishment for disappointing her at her party, well deserved.

He will tell her in the morning what frightened him. He can't go back, even if they've found him. Especially that one memory. He shies away from it, pushing it away into the dark corners of his mind. He doubts they will understand, those he slipped away from into time and space. He needs this, more than even he really understands now.

* * *

Jack is sure he spotted Owen when he and Ianto attended that party with the Doctor. He's equally sure Owen saw him, to judge by his sudden vanishing from view, and the glimpse through the crowd of him huddling against the side of the party's hostess. He's beginning to think perhaps asking the Doctor for a lift wasn't such a bad idea as he originally thought.

"Dangerous, indulging him like that." The Doctor is at the doorway, leaning against it with his hands in the pockets of his pin-stripe trousers. "Especially with Daegon Rings."

"Ianto isn't the one I'm worried about." Jack doesn't look back, keeping his gaze on the city spread out in the valley below them. It's a long walk down there, and somewhere in one of the grand houses near the center is one of his team, proudly wearing the rings of one of the most powerful women in the city. He would like to know how long Owen's been here to be so proud of being owned.

"He looked happy, Jack." The Doctor doesn't move, keeping the distance between them. "He's her favorite, and more important than just another toy. Or she wouldn't have shown him off like that."

He didn't need the Doctor to tell him that, he had seen it for himself. The pride and happiness had vanished like a candle flame in a sudden gust when Owen saw him, replaced by panic. He isn't sure what about that worries him, and scares him, the most, only that it does.

"We can go back, and get him, if you want. Take him home." The Doctor sounds like that's the last thing he really wants to do.

"Not if he's wearing those rings, Doctor. You know that." They'd kill Owen if they tried to take him away without the permission of his owner. And that was something he's never thought he'd associate with Owen. Submission, yes, but slave, owned? No, that he's having a hard time wrapping his mind around.

"I wasn't suggesting we just take him without asking." The Doctor is irritated, and Jack snorts. "She's a reasonable person, when you try to talk to her."

"How can you be sure of that?"

The silence behind him stretches out long enough for Jack to look over his shoulder, to see the uncomfortable expression on the Doctor's face. There's something he's not telling Jack, and probably won't tell him. Though Jack thinks maybe he can figure out a small part of it. Most people who wear the rings, he knows, aren't doing so against their will. Perhaps the Doctor has a little more intimate knowledge of them, and Owen's mistress, than Jack had thought.

It's something that bothers him and intrigues him at the same time, something he won't be able to leave alone forever. But for now, he doesn't ask, and the Doctor finally shrugs, shaking his head slightly, and the expression vanishes as if it had never been there.

"We just wait until morning, pop down there, and ask for an audience, and sort this all out." The Doctor smiles, and Jack nods his head before turning back to watch the city as the night slips past, hoping that the Doctor's plan really does work, and they'll be back at the Hub with everything back to some semblance of normal before tea-time.

* * *

When she calls for him to come to her the next morning, he's reluctant, hesitating at the door that will let him into the private audience chamber she's using today. He's sure that the memory he doesn't want, maybe more, are waiting for him. Jack, and whoever put those rings around his throat, his wrists.

He slips into the room, staying close to the door. He's right, Jack's waiting, but not alone, and not wearing the rings today. There's Ianto, beside him, his expression as blank and unreadable as always, and a stranger he's only seen in archive footage from Canary Wharf. The Doctor.

"Owen." Jack is watching him, concern in his expression that Owen doesn't want.

He nearly bolts across the room, dropping to his knees beside his mistress, leaning his head against her. She doesn't let him stay there, though, stepping away without even a stray caress of his hair. He looks up at her, confusion boiling up inside.

"Tell me what you want, Owen."

This isn't their game, isn't her looking for him to tell her what she wants to hear. She wants truth, and that's harder than the game. He doesn't want to think about what he wants, doesn't want to make the decision she's handing him.

"I..." He stops, looking up at her with a pleading expression.

"Get up, Owen. Tell me what you want." Her expression is dangerous, demanding not that he bend to her will, but that he find his own where he's buried it.

"I don't know." He is slow to get to his feet, and he takes a step towards her, flinching when she steps away again.

She looks to the Doctor, a darkness in her eyes that would make most on this planet back away from her, but the alien does not. He just gives her a grim smile that does nothing to lighten the mood. When she moves again, her fingers brush against the warm metal of the rings he wears, the catches releasing, and the bands falling to the floor with a discordant clatter.

He feels strange without them, without the cuffs of his bed, or the locks on his door. She's giving him the choice. Stay or go. Whichever he wants. He looks over at Jack for a moment, then back at her. Choice isn't something he's certain about anymore.

She picks up the rings, and sets them on the small table that is next to the door. Sets them next to another set, almost identical except for the name etched in swirling characters across it. Characters he's learned to read, and he looks at Jack again, surprised.

Jack shrugs, but doesn't say anything.

* * *

He's forgotten that there are some good things about Daegon in the thirty-ninth century. Women like Aristan, who saw Owen out of his depth in a strange place and time, and scooped him up, gave him a stable base on which to rebuild himself. Only now, he's shown up on her doorstep with a way to take Owen home, and she's not happy about it.

She doesn't tell them why, but that's not how someone like her behaves, not here and now. The only people who know what she wants, and what she thinks are those who are hidden behind the doors to the back rooms of her home. The ones who exist solely for her, at least at the moment.

The Doctor shoves his hands in his pockets beside Jack, and he glances over at him. He can see the understanding in the Time Lord's face, directed at Aristan. He's probably correct in his thoughts last night, that the Doctor knows Aristan better than he's letting on. But again, he doesn't ask. It's still not the time.

The door opens, and Owen's there, watching Jack with an expression that nearly takes the breath out of him. Fear and anger, overlaid with uncertainty so thick that Jack doubts Owen realizes the rest is visible in his face.

"Owen." He doesn't mean to let the name slip out, but he's worried, now, that maybe Aristan has damaged Owen without realizing it. Or perhaps the damage was already done, before Owen ever slipped through the Rift, and he's shown up before it's had a chance to begin to heal.

When Owen damn near teleports to Aristan's side, kneeling and pressing against her like a frightened pet, Jack twitches, staring. He watches Owen as the woman pulls away, her one hand held unnaturally still at her side, avoiding the automatic motion of affection and reassurance that Owen is clearly expecting. That Owen looks like he's suddenly been tossed into a river and told to swim without a clue as to how disturbs Jack, and he takes a moment to shove the emotion down, force himself to keep his expression impassive.

"Tell me what you want... Owen." The almost imperceptible hesitation, as if another word would come to her lips is something Jack notes. She's as accustomed to this as Owen, as drawn into it as he is, and there's a faint hint of fear that flickers across her face, almost too fast to notice.

Owen hesitates, looking more lost with every passing second. How long has he been here, that he's gotten this dependent on someone else to make his decisions for him? He's looking at her with an expression that begs for direction, to be told what he wants, to be told what to do. Something she won't do, not in this. It has to be his choice.

"Get up, and tell me what you want." Her voice is a whip-snap of command, someone who knows she will be obeyed. It draws Owen to his feet, though he still hesitates before he speaks, the words more reassuring than they have any right to be.

"I don't know." He's trying to get close to her again, but she's having none of it, keeping her distance. Making Owen face this on his own, face his choice, and make up his mind.

When the bands drop to the floor, leaving Owen truly free, Jack relaxes fractionally. Perhaps she's trying to make Owen really make a choice, perhaps she saw him make a choice, and Jack simply can't see it himself. He doesn't know, but now he can take Owen back home, if he chooses to do so.

Owen meets his gaze after she sets the rings aside, beside the set Jack brought with him. The set that he'd never intended to actually use, but knows might make Owen more able to come home, if he wants to. Or might make the decision harder. He just shrugs, unable to say anything. He can't. This isn't his choice.

* * *

[Owen choses to go home](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1142173) | [Owen choses to stay](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1142091)

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 4 November 2007 on LiveJournal.


End file.
